


There aren't any Words

by AkaneOwari



Category: Attack on Titan, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, Ymirs POV, what do i tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaneOwari/pseuds/AkaneOwari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I love her, I love her, oh God, I love her. I want her, and I need her, in every way possible, and I really can't fucking express that enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There aren't any Words

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE THIS IN LIKE 30 MINUTES, IT'S PAST MIDNIGHT, AND BY THE END I WAS DRIFTING OFF TO SLEEP BUT I SWORE I'D FINISH IT
> 
> I'LL GO BACK AND REVISE IT LATER SO WHATEVER FRICK OFF HERE IS SOME LESBIAN LOVE FOR THE SOUL
> 
> told in ymirs pov yadda yadda, god damn shes gay(perfect)
> 
> really short ew im sorry

My heart beats and yearns for you as if you were my last rush of oxygen, the breathes that you give as you fight for the last, the strain of muscles when they plead for movement that they cannot have; my love is not still like the pond that reflects the moon, only rippled by lovers dipping their toes just beneath the surface, but a roaring tsunami of the ocean, destroying and breaking and lashing out to somehow push the feelings across; to somehow make you understand; I need you to understand; I want you to hear me.

 

The tsunami is silent; it doesn't actually lash out, it doesn't destroy and rip down all in it's path, oh, no; it sits and stirs, wanting to explode, but some hand of God wills it to keep quiet, denying the release it needs, aching and turning and throbbing; my stomach is ready to unravel, as if I've taken staples to it to try and mend open wounds.

 

There are no words to describe how much I love her-I can sit, and think, and wonder and imagine and brainstorm and write down every word of every forgotten language, and nothing will be there that can possibly describe how much I love Christa; nothing could ever bring even the smallest fraction of my desire of her; oh, how I desire her in every shape and way and form possible, how I desire her mind, her body, her emotions, her honesty; how I desire her smile when she feels safe, how I desire her relaxed shoulders on a warm, beautiful day, how I desire the light in her eyes, eyes of an angel, a Goddess, of a living, breathing human; how I desire, and how I do not know how to express. 

 

I want to hear her. I want her to laugh, to greet me by my name, to talk about her day, her friends, what she plans on doing. I want her smile at me, to ask me how I am so that I can respond with the usual, "I'm fine", or for her to retort over me grumbling, "Terrible, because I'm surrounded by all of these idiots". I don't care what she's saying, I just want her to talk, endlessly and forever, so that I can groan and tell her to be quiet, so that I can tease her over which she finds passion for.  
I want her, her, her, her, her; I can scream it as loud as I may try! I can write it down a million times and over; I can whisper it into the dark blanket of the night, where only the dead are there to listen to my deepest secrets; but none of it is enough; it will never be enough; I want her; I want her; I want her.

 

I want to fight for her. I want a man to take notice of her beauty; the beauty that glows around her, in her, for her, in honor of her; and I want him to make a dumb remark, and I want to be the one Christa asks to take care of it-she should not even move to ask, for I will already be there, letting my love explode from my fist to shatter the jaw that dared believe it could be allowed to honor to speak to HER.

 

My Christa. The Christa that I stand around confidently, arm looped over her shoulders, parading her around for the world to see; the Christa that I challenge constantly, admiring so secretly to myself how she will not bend over insult to her personality. (I'd never admit it. It should be evident, though, for nothing is more radiant than one who gives so much and yet will not change over a few petty words). 

 

I cannot, can never, express my love for her. No words can describe it; no scenario can compare to the beyond haphazard whirlpool of my emotions; nothing can pull the strings of my heart to explain just why I love her so much as I do, why or when it exactly happened; it's like peeking into a box, trying to open it all of the way, only for the hinges to catch and lock.

 

I don't mind, though. I don't mind that I can never truly express these emotions to anyone-to her, even. While this tsunami rages under an invisible sheet, silenced and kept still, beyond unstoppable if it were to be released...I do not mind. It's really okay, because as so long I know I love her, I will keep taking those breaths that push death away; my lifeline from sure death, that could only be knocked away by the impact if I even attempted to let someone understand just how I feel.

It's really okay, because my heart is beating. I am breathing while she does; living beside her; with her. 

 

Fuck. I love her.


End file.
